


I Think In My Mouth

by Polly_Lynn



Category: Castle
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Holidays, Married Couple, Mental Health Issues, Near Future, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: “He doesn’t expect to find her crying.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever written. And maybe the most heartfelt. 

 

 

 

 

"I think in my mouth, so I don't lie.”

—Carrie Fisher 1956–2016

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t expect to find her crying. After everything they’ve been through together—after _everything_ that’s happened in this godforsaken year  alone—it’s still the last thing he expects, but here they are. Here she is, huddled in the window seat with the shades drawn against the sun that doesn’t seem like December. Huddled under a blanket, despite the unseasonable warmth. 

“Pain?”

He clambers right up with her. Doesn’t give her a choice about whether or not to let him in. Whether or not she’ll try to wave it away. Wave him away, but he’s grateful all the same that she doesn’t. He’s grateful all the same that she lifts the blanket so he can slide beneath it, too. That she’s boneless and heavy against his chest as soon as he’s settled. 

“Not pain,” she says. 

It’s the truth, he thinks. He _knows_ , even though she presses his palm over her newest scar.

“Not pain,” he agrees. He presses his lips to the glimmering skin just south of the corner of her eye. “Christmas?” 

He almost wishes he hadn’t asked. Almost wishes he could be content with the fiction that they’ve managed something lovely. Something quiet and warm and grateful, with enough room for them all to sprawl out. To retreat to the corners of the huge house when they’ve needed to. His mother. Her dad and Alexis. The two of them, alone and together. 

It had been good. He thought it had been, but she’s crying. Sobbing, actually, and he’s paralyzed with regret. Speechless. 

“Not Christmas.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Not crying over Christmas,” she says, and that’s the truth, too, he thinks. He knows. 

“Ok.” He tightens his arm around her. Tries not to wince at the pull of his own scars even as he soothes hers with warmth and pressure and presence. “Ok.” 

He keeps it to that. Sets his teeth hard together against the reassurance that she doesn’t have to tell him, because of course she doesn’t. He’s better about that. Content enough that she lets him know she _does_ need him, even if she doesn’t say why. He tries to be content enough, anyway. And he's better about it, at the very least.

“It’s stupid,” she blurts. Her voice is thick. She swipes the back of her hand across her eyes. Sniffs mightily and takes a long, shaking breath that does exactly nothing to stop the flow of tears. Exactly nothing to make her sound more like herself. “It’s _so_ stupid.” 

There’s no question of her telling him, then. Not for a good long while, as she sobs against his shoulder. For a good long while after that, as the tears flow silently. There’s no question until she breaks the silence. Until she tries and doesn’t make it the first few times. 

“The news . . .” she finally chokes out. Her spine stiffens. She shakes her head. “It’s _so_ stupid.”

It takes him too long. Not to realize what she’s talking about. He knows that right away. Realizes he’s known since he went looking for her. But it takes him too long to accept that’s what it is. It takes him too long. 

  
“Stupid. No,” he murmurs against her cheek. He tastes salt, and doesn’t know if it's his tears or hers. “I mean _yes_ , but no.” He laughs, but it’s an ugly, wheezing thing. “Not stupid.” 

“It’s . . . kind of stupid, Castle.” She laughs, too, and it’s no better. She turns her face into the soggy mess of his shirt. “It’s not like I knew . . .” She sits bolt upright. “You didn’t . . . you didn’t  _know_ her.” 

“Me?” He shrinks back. They blink at each other in the near-dark with the not-December sun leaking in around the shades. It’s a ridiculous tableau. Some part of him knows that: It may not be stupid, but it’s utterly ridiculous. The rest of him is aghast at the idea. “ _Know_ her. Me? No. _No.”_

“Good.” She falls back against him, hard enough to make them both grunt. “I’d hate to have to divorce you.” 

“Divorce me?” He swipes at his own cheeks with a corner of the scratchy blanket. Pulls the long sleeve of his shirt over his fingers to dab more carefully at hers. “For knowing Princess Leia?” 

“For not introducing me.” She thumps him half-heartedly in the chest. 

“Believe me Beckett.” He catches her fist to sweep a kiss across her knuckles. “If I’d known her, I would have led with that.” 

“Would’ve saved a lot of time.” 

She gives him a smile, and he wants to snatch it up. He wants to spin a yarn about how powerless she’d have been right from the start, when he whipped out his phone to shower that he had Princess Leia Freaking Organa on speed dial, but the smile is too grim. It’s too melancholy and not like her. 

This is all a little not like her. The tears. Withdrawing into the dark like this. It’s not like the her she’s become in these last few years. The her she’s clawed her way into being these last few months, and it has him tangled up. It has him wondering what to ask and what to leave be. 

It has him wondering, but the silence works its magic. _She_ works her magic, and he feels . . . proud. He feels relieved and in awe and _proud_ of the way she draws strength from it. From silence and their nearness in the dark. 

“I’m not just sad for me,” she says quietly. She closes her fist around a fold of his shirt. Her face screws up in a scowl—a warning he feels, though he can’t see it. He laughs softly and presses his his lips to her forehead. Promises her silence and freedom from whatever smart-ass comment she thinks he’s inclined to make. She scowls, but the fierceness bleeds away. “It’s stupid.” 

She trails off. Loses her nerve, but he breathes it back into her. He dips his head and tips her chin up to find her mouth. “What is, Kate?” He kisses her gently. Relentlessly. “What’s stupid?” 

“What if we have a girl?” She says it quickly. No breath at all between the words. No space. “It’s all done. All the movies and . . . it’s _stupid._ But what if we have a girl?” 

“We’ll show her.” 

He draws his knees up. Manhandles her body even closer to his and tamps down the bright streak of heart-pounding joy and fear and everything, because it’s been months since they’ve really talked about this. Months since the conversation has even existed outside a doctor’s office. Outside the realm of what’s even possible given the long road to recovery they’re both still on, and now, all of a sudden, _what if they have a girl_? 

But he tamps that down. He gathers her closer and lives in the moment. This stupid, honest, searing moment of grief and resolve. 

“We’ll show her,” he says again. “The original trilogy.”

“The _Blues Brothers_ when she’s way too young.” She grins against his neck. Nips his skin with her teeth and grins, even though she’s crying again. Even though they’re both crying.

"And we'll read to her." He grimaces and smiles at the same time. It hurts, all things considered, when he thinks of every turn of phrase that's made him green with envy. "When she's way too young. Have you . . . ?"

He wonders, suddenly. He doesn't know, and she's shaking her head.

"A little," she says. "Not enough."

"You should." He kisses her, eager and excited suddenly. Carried away by the tower of books he's building up in his mind, but she calls him back. She reaches up and pulls his forehead down to hers.

"I will." She kisses him, quick and somber. “But we'll show her, right, Castle? We’ll have to show her.” 

"We will," he promises in the dark with the not-December sun leaking in. "We'll show her." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: RIP, Carrie Fisher, a hero to me almost my whole life long for so many reasons.


End file.
